


Time Travel

by capricasong



Series: Saviors and Sinners [5]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Making Out, Negan being sweet, Short & Sweet, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 13:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10742808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capricasong/pseuds/capricasong
Summary: Negan stumbles on some of Rikki's Polaroids from before the turn.





	Time Travel

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of negans-dirty-girl 4k challenge on tumblr, but it takes place completely within my Saviors and Sinners universe. It's adorable and I love it. It's a sweet little drabble that doesn't have any bearing on the main plot of Saviors and Sinners. 
> 
> Lots of dialogue.

"What's this?"  
Negan was holding up a couple of old Polaroids, warped and faded with age. 

I blinked in surprise and looked more closely. Yep, the small box they lived in, stuffed with old faded magazines was sitting on his table. The Polaroids were way better than anything in the magazines though. 

I saw down next to him on the bed and snatched the photos, looking at them fondly for the first time in over a year.  
"Where the hell did you get this box?"  
"Your room, " he answered, totally unabashed.  
I shoved him, "Asshole!"  
"Yeah, and you fucking love me anyway, " he snickered, "Now tell me about these."

He took the pictures back from me and it was my turn to laugh.  
"I was a model-"  
"You sure a shit were," he interrupted, "Why didn't you ever tell me, or fucking show me these?"  
"Because that was a lifetime ago, Negan."  
"But you look super fucking hot."

He held up one photo in particular where I was topless, wearing only lacy black short shorts and several long vintage necklaces. My hair was short and dyed neon pink.  
"This..." he bit his lower lip, eyes closing for a second, "I would have loved to see you at this age."

I giggled a little, letting my hand trace across his jaw, feeling the fine hair of his stubble. He'd lost track of it again, letting it grow out longer than he liked. I kissed that scruffy cheek and said lightly, "You would have scared the living shit out of me at that age."

His eyes softened as he looked at me, maybe imagining me like that, "Yeah?" He cupped my cheek, "Maybe I wasn't so scary back then."  
"Somehow I doubt that."  
"You'd be surprised."

I pulled him backwards, into my lap, and kissed the top of his head. "Tell me about it."  
"About what?"  
"About you. Before the turn."

He let out a deep sigh. He didn't like talking about before the turn. But he was the one who had brought it up, in a way. So he settled in, scooting down so his head was all that was in my lap and he could look up at my face, or more accurately, look up skirt, or lean over and kiss my thigh, which he did several times. Finally though, he spoke in a quiet voice. 

"There isn't really that much to tell. I wasn't anything special. Just a coach. I had a wife. She died, badly. And then I did a bad job of raising our sons. I made them think I was dead. And now I don't even know where they are, if they even survived this mess."  
"What was she like?"  
"Lucille." I could hear the smile in his voice, "She was sharp as a tack. You've met her fucking namesake. Didn't take mine or anyone else's bullshit. And my god she was beautiful. Her hair was like... the color of the sun shining on a field of wheat. Gold, the way honey used to look." He laughed a little, and it wasn't a nice laugh. "You know, the hell of it is that I can't remember her face anymore. I've tried, but it's just a blur. Her face...it's just fucking gone."

There were tears threatening to form in his eyes, for probably the first time that I had seen since I had known him. "motherfuck.." I heard him whisper as he turned his face into my thigh. I felt the hot tears spill onto my skin, but I didn't dare say a word about it. This pain was not mine to share, and he would not thank me for trying to comfort him. Instead, I started talking about myself. Distracting him might just help. 

"Modeling...was a hobby. It didn't ever pay the bills. It usually cost me a lot, actually. But I wasn't in it for money or fame or whatever. I was doing it because I fucking loved it," I took a breath, trying to really remember what it was like, trying to find the words to describe how it made me feel, "Getting ready was always the most stressful part, whether I was doing it myself, or I had help. I loved having help. It felt like, I don't know, like being a celebrity or something. Then I would finally be done with hair and makeup and wardrobe and I'd get in front of the camera and i would be so jittery. I could always feel the adrenaline pumping through me from all that struggling to get ready so quickly."

His breathing had slowed but his face was still buried against my leg, hiding whatever he was feeling. So I kept talking. "The first few minutes were always nerve wracking. And then I would just...hit my rhythm, and the poses would just come to me. It was like dancing, sort of. And like yoga, sort of. And I would always end up falling over a couple of times because you know my balance is shit."

That made him laugh, a short bray of sound that seemed to erupt from my lap. I laughed too, and leaned down to press a kiss against his cheek. He sat up then, wiping his eyes quickly, and grinned at me.  
"I bet you were quite the sight, tripping around in your heels and lingerie."

He stood up and pulled me up with him, yanking me so that I fell against him. His hands slipped under the fabric of my shirt, sliding up my back and I giggled, leaning up to give him a quick kiss, that he returned with a slower, deeper one. My hands curled around the fabric at his hips, fingers skating just under the material. I bit at his bottom lip and he groaned, grinding his hips into mine. I let out a little gasp as his lips moved to my neck, grazing the tender skin there...

-

Two nights later, as I collapsed lazily onto his bed, I noticed a group of three of my little Polaroids tacked onto the wall. I giggled and rolled onto my side so I could see him. 

"You stole those! You motherfucker!"  
His grin was instant, self-satisfied, and sweet.


End file.
